


The bath curse

by ArtanisNaanie



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Blue Balls, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Scent Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, Too many baths, at least it's implied they do, they switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtanisNaanie/pseuds/ArtanisNaanie
Summary: Five times where Geralt and Jaskier try to have sex in the bath, and one time they succeed.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 101
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	The bath curse

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies!! First of all, let me thank you _so much_ for your comments and kudos and appreciation on my last fic. It really gave me the push I needed to finish this one, which was gathering dust in my gdocs, so thank you!! 
> 
> Thanks to Liz for editing, Naomi and Rosa for being my soundboards, and the WFWGC for the cheerleading, support and advice.
> 
> This fic checks the "rimming" Square on my Sugar and Spice Witcher bingo card.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

1.

“Shh, Witcher, let me.”

Geralt relaxes against the side of the tub, eyes closed, while Jaskier settles more comfortably in his lap. The water is maybe a little too cold for Geralt’s liking, but it’ll do for a bit.

Jaskier works up a lather in his hands with the bar of unscented soap that they always use; it’s not Jaskier’s favorite, Geralt knows - how could he not, with the endless times the bard has complained about the harshness of the soap, how it peels the skin right off the meat, and other exaggerations -, but they still haven’t found a scented one that doesn’t just __reek__ in Geralt’s opinion. No matter what the scent, from lavender to rose, from honeysuckle to plain honey, nothing is ever subtle enough for Geralt to wear it on his skin and his hair. Unscented soap it is, then, at least where Geralt is concerned. 

Agile fingers soap up his hair, massaging his scalp delicately and combing through his strands, while his hands go to pet Jaskier’s side, down his thighs, and up his ribs, feeling the smoothness of Jaskier’s skin and the softness of his damp body hair. Jaskier uses his whole body to make even the slightest movement, and the act of washing Geralt’s hair makes him undulate in his lap, half-hard dick gliding along Geralt’s belly. Geralt can feel himself react none too slowly, his cock filling against the cleft of Jaskier’s ass, his hands sliding toward the globes to grab them and help Jaskier find a rhythm. 

Jaskier laughs.

“Geralt, let me at least finish with your hair!” he says, right against Geralt’s lips, and it’s too tempting to take those lips between his own and suck on them, and lick them, and plunge into Jaskier’s mouth. The bard lets him, lips parting gracefully, hands more petting his hair than washing it as their bodies start to grind with more purpose. Geralt widens his hands to grab as much ass as he can, fingertips sinking in the supple flesh to support Jaskier’s movements, forward to rub his cock against his abdomen, backward to glide his ass against Geralt’s cock. 

The kisses get deeper and more frantic, a counterpoint to the almost teasing touches that are happening beneath the water. Jaskier takes Geralt’s face in his hands, pulling him more forcefully against his mouth, his lips, his tongue. Geralt follows easily, worrying Jaskier’s lower lips with his sharp teeth and smirking when that warrants him the first real moan from the bard. He starts again, basking in the feeling of Jaskier’s fingers on his face, his cheeks, his eyelids, his ears, surrounded as he is by Jaskier’s body. 

They lean back, mostly to allow Jaskier to breathe, and Geralt opens his eyes to see the soft smile on his bard’s face for less than one heartbeat before he feels his eyes suddenly go on fire.

“Fuck!”

He blinks, and blinks, and it just makes it worse. He feels as if there’s sand under his eyelids. He pushes Jaskier off his lap forcefully, and the bard squeaks indignantly; he doesn’t care.

“Fuck!” he repeats, because there are not a lot of words available in this kind of situation and, even if there were, Geralt would probably not use them.

“What’s happening? Geralt, Geralt love, talk to me!” Jaskier’s voice is alarmed, and he scuttles back to leave some space to Geralt and Geralt would be grateful, he would, if he didn’t feel as if he’s going to have to peel his eyelids off. 

He doesn’t answer, instead ducking his head in the water and opening his eyes. 

The soap from his hair and face swirls in the water and comes right back at his eyes, and he brings his head up from the water quickly, causing the water from his hair to arch through the air, leaving a mess of water everywhere. He rubs his eyes, increasingly frustrated until he feels some clear water slowly dripping on his face. It’s cold and unpleasant, but it slowly rinses his hair and face and, finally, his eyes. 

When he can open them again he can see Jaskier’s face upside down from where he leans above him from behind the tub, the cup with which he’s rinsing his face still mid-air. He’s still naked, and rivulets of water are sliding along his body, but Geralt is still in pain and his vision is still blurred and he can’t feast on his appearance. 

“Melitele’s tits, Geralt, your eyes are.. red!”

Geralt scoffs and blinks again, the feeling of burn and sand not entirely gone. Jaskier, obligingly, pours more fresh water on his face and Geralt blinks through it until he feels relief. 

“Well that went well, wouldn’t you say, love?” Geralt grunts in response, standing and getting out of the tub, taking the bath sheet Jaskier is offering with one hand and scrubbing himself dry with his eyes closed. He feels Jaskier at his back leaning in, his deft fingers caressing his sides, and stops them with a sure grasp of his hands.

“It hurts like a bitch, Jaskier,” he grumbles, because it does, and he’s used to pain when he’s expecting it, but it sure puts a damper on the evening. Jaskier nods once against his back then wiggles his hands out of Geralt’s. 

A few moments later they’re in bed, Jaskier plastered as usual against his side. His eyes still faintly burn, even under the cold washcloth the bard has put over his eyelids.

“And to think you never believe me when I say that soap is too harsh, really, Geralt, you should listen to me sometimes,” Jaskier murmurs, his tone half exasperated and half sleepy.

“Hmm,” is how Geralt answers.

2.

The tub is small, as they almost always are, but they make do anyway. Geralt has washed himself while the water was too hot for Jaskier to handle, and now they are just trading soft touches and softer looks. His shoulder hurts like a bitch from where the harpy talons grasped it just before he killed it, a slight trail of red still pulsing from it into the water of the bath, but neither of them seem to care. Geralt slides his lips against Jaskier’s neck, relishing in the shiver it ignites in his lover’s body, goosebumps rising along his arms.

“I want to suck your cock,” Jaskier says, his mouth caressing Geralt’s ear shell as he speaks lowly, and Geralt can’t see any reason to deny him. He rises from the water just to sit on the edge of the tub, careful to keep most of his weight on the right side of it. “Go on then,” he replies, and Jaskier’s smirk is evil and hot, and becomes hotter still as it wraps around his dick. 

Staying still is a feat while Jaskier bobs his head, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, his tongue poking at the slit when he reaches the head. Everything is hot and wet, the steam coming from the bath softening everything like gossamer silk, the light from the candles glowing gold in the semi-darkness. Geralt grips the edge of the tub with his fingers until he hears the slight crack of the wood being pushed to its limit, hears the sounds of his heavy breathing, the water sloshing in the tub, the wet noise of Jaskier worshipping his cock. He feels himself racing towards his orgasm, the pit of warmth in the depth of his belly ready to pulse throughout his cock, his legs shaking from the effort to stay still, his heels lifting from the bottom of the tub. 

As he forces his feet down again, his panting louder and louder in the cluttered room, his left heel lies on the forgotten piece of soap, and everything happens quickly: his foot slips, his shoulder hurts, his hand leaves the rim unconsciously, his weight shifts, the tub tips. 

When they manage to extract themselves from one another and the spilled bath there is water everywhere on the floor, leaking through the floorboards. They share a look, a nod, and not five minutes later Jaskier is laughing his ass off on the way to Roach after having escaped from the window.

“The mighty Witcher, spiller of tubs!” he shouts once they’re far enough from the inn, and Geralt glares at him over his shoulder. They stop in the dead of the night to sleep on the hard ground, but Jaskier dresses his wound with a teasing smile on his lips and finishes his previous endeavor, leaving Geralt sated and sleepy.

3.

Tretogor has very few things to recommend itself in Geralt’s opinion, but the bathhouse he’s currently occupying is one of them. The main pool is covered by a dome pierced by little openings that let some sunshine in, lancing through the steam fog like tangible light. In the middle of the morning the space is almost empty, only Jaskier, him, and a couple of other men on the other side of the big room, enjoying the relaxing temperature and the padded silence. 

He’s floating, neck resting against the rim of the pool, body weightless in a way that occurs too rarely, when he feels a sneaky hand slide along his thigh. He fights a smile and hides it under a grunt.

“Jaskier.”

“Mmm, love?”

The bard comes closer, his hand hiking higher. Geralt doesn’t try to stop him.

“It’s nice, wouldn’t you say?” Jaskier continues, his fingers trailing along Geralt’s dick slowly, nothing more than a tease. Geralt keeps his eyes shut and his body relaxed under the murky and sulfurous water, feeling his cock filling slowly under the caresses. He hums in response. “Just you and me, in the shadows, under the water… we could be doing anything and nobody would know.” 

“We are,” Geralt rumbles as Jaskier closes his hand around his cock. Jaskier giggles near his ear, the huff of air cold in the humid heat of the bathhouse. The feeling of his other hand along his back and towards his ass takes a moment to register, everything the same temperature under the water. 

“Well, you aren’t doing anything, love… yet, at least. But you could open beautifully on my fingers, right there,” a finger slides along his crack, just the barest hint of pressure on his hole, “and then you could sit on my cock. But you would have to be discreet, Geralt, because we aren’t actually alone… could you do that?”

Geralt smirks. He’s not the one who has trouble being discreet and they both know it. He nods nonetheless, because games have rules and he likes following them from time to time. The hand on his cock squeezes a little more, goes a little faster, while the finger on his ass circles and pushes and circles again, waking up every nerve. He forces himself to stay perfectly still, still floating, and enjoys the approving hum from Jaskier.

“You’re so pretty like that, Geralt, when you let me do what I-”

“Excuse us, wouldn’t you be the famous bard Jaskier?”

Everything stops so fast Geralt’s body falls into the pool more until his feet touch the ground. Jaskier’s body heat is nowhere near him, now, and when he opens his eyes he sees two men approaching in the pool from behind the bard, who is flushed red and fidgeting with the water surface.

“Why yes, yes I am, dear gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

Geralt sighs and submerges himself under the water, willing his cock to calm down. 

Two hours, a dozen autographs, and an impromptu naked jam session with his lute later (“Who would have thought the acoustics of this place were so good, Geralt, did you notice?” “Hmm”) Jaskier finally agrees to be dragged out of the bathhouse and his adoring public. Geralt balls ache a bit, but that’s nothing new.

4.

The water is fucking cold, as it often is in streams that come down directly from the mountains, but Jaskier decided that he wanted to clean up and no amount of hypothermia risk was going to sway him, so here they are. The actual cleaning part is done quickly and with the least amount of contact with the water, but as they stay with just their lower legs in the stream Geralt can’t miss the way the sun kisses Jaskier’s skin, how his hair shines in a golden hue, how the gold of his rings blink in the light. Under all his finery Jaskier hides a solid body, long muscles, thick hair on his chest, a little pouch under his belly button that makes Geralt swell in pride. Not the only thing that swells, either; the Bard has left the young and pretty to reach the mature and handsome stage of his life, a few lines at the edge of his eyes that make them shine all the more, and Geralt finds it impossible to resist him, not that he tries very hard. 

The smirk at the edge of Jaskier’s lips indicates that he knows very well he’s being observed and the way his fingers rake on his chest in a parody of washing himself is just a way to put himself on display for Geralt. He doesn’t start when Geralt slides his hands around his waist from behind, just inclines his head to the right leaving his neck as a white expanse made for Geralt’s lips. Goosebumps rise on his arms as Geralt takes advantage.

Despite the cold at their feet, Jaskier is warm and welcoming. Geralt’s hands drift towards his cock, circling it and touching it unhurriedly, watching it fill up from over Jaskier’s shoulder. His own dick rubs between Jaskier’s thighs, along his crack, and Jaskier arches his back a little, resting his head on Geralt’s right shoulder. His breathing starts to quicken up, little whimpers leave his lips in the stillness of the afternoon. Geralt breathes in the scent of his skin, the hint of spice of his arousal, and accelerates his movements, trying to get out more sounds from his lover. 

The sound comes, but it’s not a happy one. Something is pulling Jaskier away from his arms by the ankle, something Geralt knows very well. He leaves Jaskier’s dick alone and hugs him more forcefully, feet grasping at the bed of the stream to carry them away from the water, against the force of the drowner that is trying to take Jaskier away from him. He tugs, forcefully, and kicks as soon as he feels he has the balance to do that. His foot connects with… something, and the hold on Jaskier relents, allowing them to fall on the bank, near their belongings. 

Jaskier, manifesting some quick and smart thinking (for once), disengages himself from Geralt’s grasp and scurries towards their stuff, throwing his silver sword towards Geralt as soon as he can touch it while Geralt rises to stand. There are four of the fuckers and Geralt is naked, but he also is furious and lets his anger fuel his skills, precise like an instrument as he cuts down the drowners one after the other before they even have the time to understand what’s happening. 

When it’s done the stream is muddy from all the slime that makes up the drowners’ blood, Geralt needs another bath and Jaskier is shivering a little away from the bank, curled on himself to try and stave off the cold.

“You could have dressed, Jaskier,” Geralt says, as he gets out of the water and starts to walk upstream to find some clean water and rinse off.

“Yes, well, you could have checked for drowners too, but I guess we didn’t do what we should have, did we?” Jaskier replies, in that haughty tone he takes when he’s both embarrassed and annoyed.

“Yeah, and you could have waited until we reached the village but no, Master Bard wanted to get clean right this moment, didn’t he?”

“Oh, oh! Do not dare put this on me! I am not the monster hunter, Geralt, how was I supposed to know there would be drowners in this shallow little stream that’s not even good enough to water the horses, Geralt!!”

Geralt doesn’t reply, limiting himself to roll his eyes. When they leave, an hour later, Geralt has harvested everything he could from the drowners, Jaskier is pouting (silently, for once), and Roach whinnies something that resembles a laugh. Geralt glares at her, and she does it again.

5.

As Geralt crosses the door of the room they’re renting Jaskier is immediately all over him. His hands flutter like butterflies across his face, his shoulders, his chest.

“I’m fine,” Geralt says, which is pretty much the truth if one disregards the tiredness and the potions withdrawal, which Geralt usually does. 

“Well, you say that, but you also said you would be back before the sun came down, so excuse me if I don’t take your words as gospel, love,” is the clipped reply, as those jittery hands start to unbuckle his armor with practiced ease. “The bath has gone cold, the meal too, and the ale has gone hot. Really, Geralt, what took you so long?”

Geralt grunts, unwilling to talk about it at the moment. There were more of the fucking endregas than what he’d been told and he had to run a couple of times to reapply the oil on his sword, which made him lose time and stamina. He is __tired__. He puts all his focus on staying upright as Jaskier disrobes him and pulls him towards the bath. He would like to go straight to bed but he can feel the gross feeling of blood in his hair and the smell of death and animals around him and knows Jaskier would pester him into compliance anyway. 

“Come on, do your magic,” Jaskier says with a gesture of the hand that resembles the sign for Igni as much as a child’s drawing looks like a horse, “while I get ready and then I’ll wash your frankly disgusting hair, Witcher.” The jab is softened by Jaskier’s soft look and Geralt huffs. Finding the strength to push fire towards the water is hard, but he manages anyway. He doesn’t really know how long he keeps it up before deciding it’s good enough, but when he gets in the water is pleasantly scalding, the heat melting his aching muscles, soft ribbons of steam coming out of the bath. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the rim for a minute.

“Here, leave me some space, love, I’m going to take care of you.”

Geralt likes when Jaskier takes care of him, even if he doesn’t say that enough. He likes to take care of Jaskier, too, but there’s something almost forbidden, almost taboo, in letting the bard take care of his most basic needs, and Geralt likes it, the idea of enjoying something he shouldn’t be enjoying. It’s all Jaskier’s fault, anyway.

He offers his hand and scoots more against the wall of the tub, opening his eyes towards the soft smile of his lover as he lifts his foot to enter the bath. As Geralt expects a lapful of Jaskier, though, what he gets are shrieks and a bard who jumps back, hopping on one foot.

“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE GERALT!” Jaskier cries, his hands grabbing his knee as he continues to bounce on one leg, his handsome features scrunched in a painful expression. “Did you mistake me for a fucking lobster? Or you, for the gods! How can you sit in that pool of _ _lava__ , Geralt!!”

Ah. Oops. 

By the time Jaskier stops jumping around Geralt has gotten out of the tub and is pouring the cold water from the jug on a rag. He lifts Jaskier's leg with care and flinches as he sees that the skin is angry red. No blisters or anything, but it must have hurt. 

“You know what, Geralt? I think we’re cursed,” Jaskier says as Geralt carefully wraps the cold cloth around his foot. Geralt replies by an interrogative hum. “I think someone must have cursed us so that we can’t have fun in the bath. I mean, in the last few months alone! What should I think, uh? The soap, the inundation, the fans, the drowners, now this… Accidents don’t happen accidentally!!”

Geralt watches him, an eyebrow raised on his forehead.

“Oh, you know what I mean!”

“We’re not cursed, Jaskier,” Geralt replies, getting back in the bath to actually clean himself, the water still welcomely -excessively- hot. 

“Says you,” he pouts, glaring at the ceiling. “We’re not sharing a bath ever again, Witcher, this is getting way too dangerous.”

Geralt hums.

+1

“Suit yourself.”

Jaskier is rubbing at his arms, glaring at Geralt. Geralt shrugs, leaning against the wall of the biggest pool of Kaer Morhen’s hot springs. The air is saturated with humidity, the light of the torches barely crossing through the shadows and the fog that fills the cavern. The ceiling is just high enough for them to stand tall when they get out of the baths, the rock ridged by years, centuries of steam that created stalactites that extend towards the pools. It’s hot, intimate, _ _home__. They’re alone in the large, padded space; Vesemir wouldn’t be caught here in their company if his life depended on it, and his brothers still haven’t arrived. They’re alone, they have time, space, and still, Jaskier is going on with his ridiculous idea of being cursed about having sex in water. And, well, if Jaskier doesn’t want to participate, Geralt is not going to force him. What he can do, though, is slip his hand on his chest, tugging a bit on his chest hair, his eyes boring into Jaskier’s, who frowns. Lazily, Geralt plays a moment with his nipples -more for show than anything else, he’s not the one with sensitive nipples- before continuing his way south, under the water.

“You’re not playing fair, Geralt.”

“There’s no curse and you’re being ridiculous, Jask, but if you really don’t want to join…” he shrugs again, before closing his fist around his cock. Jaskier is still not moving, but his gaze is a tangible thing even through the steam that surrounds them. Geralt knows him, however. He knows what makes him tick without a fault, and it’s with a smirk that he lounges on the side of the pool, closes his eyes, and __moans__. The sound bounces on the walls of the cave, on the water, amplified by the space and the air. He can hear the whimper that responds to it, even under the echoes, and the ripple through the water that means the bard is moving. 

“You are an absolute shit, love, and if we drown down there don’t tell me I didn’t warn you!” Jaskier mutters as he gets closer, close enough for Geralt to stand up and grab him from behind his thighs and spin him against the edge. Jaskier laughs, then, the sound getting bigger as his moan did, and Geralt buries his nose against his throat. He smells like orange blossoms and cloves, under the sulfuric smell of the hot springs, he smells like life and sex, and Geralt will never get enough of his scent. 

When there is a vivid red mark on the hollow of Jaskier's throat Geralt steps back a little. Jaskier looks like sin, wet and flushed, and Geralt feels a growl reverberating in his chest. Quick as he knows how, quick as he knows Jaskier enjoys it, he lifts him and turns him propping him against the rim of the pool, legs hanging in the water, torso leaning on the floor, ass exactly where he wants it. Jaskier thrashes for a moment before settling, and the scent that comes off of him intensifies. Geralt smirks.

“What..”

“Well,” Geralt says, leaving nips all over the white globes in front of him, ”you don’t want to be __in__ the water.” Jaskier giggles for a brief moment, then stills as Geralt parts his cheeks and dives in, licking along his crack, over his hole, around it. His scent is always more pronounced there, clinging to the sparse hair, and Geralt licks it all up. The cavern echoes the moans that come from Jaskier’s throat, starting low and getting higher as his ass relaxes under Geralt’s tongue, opening slowly under his ministrations. As soon as he feels he can plunge the tip of his tongue in without resistance Geralt adds a finger, looking for his lover’s prostate on the first thrust and finding it easily. The cry that comes out from Jaskier’s mouth makes him hide a smug smile against the bard’s lower back.

“You’re gonna come like this, aren’t you?” he mumbles against Jaskier’s skin, and he feels more than he sees Jaskier nodding, high pitched whines increasing their volumes, ass trying to move without enough leverage to get more, to get everything. Geralt doesn’t give anything more, he knows it’s not needed, but he pets his back, his ass, and glides his hand between Jaskier’s legs to tug on his cock. It doesn’t take long. Jaskier’s body seizes up, hole clenching rhythmically around his finger, the muscles of his back contracting as Jaskier lifts his head to shout his release. When he calms down, when his ass stops trying to suck Geralt’s __everything__ in, Geralt retreats and stands in the pool, his cock exactly at the right height. Jaskier moans lowly, completely limp on the edge of the pool.

Geralt drinks in his appearance, the damp fringe covering the side of his face that’s visible, the flush that starts at his shoulders and travels towards his ears, the way his ribs move as he tries to get his breath back, the little twitching of his legs in the water, and he takes his cock in hand once more. The tip of it rests on Jaskier’s hole, not pushing, not getting in, just the tease, the idea, and as he strips himself on it Jaskier whimpers, pelvis undulating slightly, as if to lure him __in__. He doesn’t give in, but the idea is enough. The heat coils under his balls, in the depth of his belly, until he lets go with a shout that resembles Jaskier’s name, come splattering all over Jaskier’s ass, white glinting in the low lights.

They rest, for a moment, Jaskier still half prone on the floor, Geralt with his forehead leaning against Jaskier’s back dimples, the scent of _ _them__ intoxicating. Then he gets up and pulls Jaskier back in the pool with him, embracing him from behind.

“See? Not cursed,” he murmurs, directly in Jaskier’s ear, enjoying the shiver that travels along the bard’s body.

“Mmm. I’m not convinced,” is Jaskier’s sleepy reply.

“Hmm. We’ll have to try again, then.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll do that.”A

Geralt smothers his chuckle against Jaskier’s shoulder, then dunks them both in the water.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my other Witcher fics:
> 
> \- [A piper at the gates of dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411083/chapters/56107210); canon universe, ep 6 fix-it, rated E, <9k. Geralt finds Jaskier one year and a half after the mountain.  
> \- the [Muse 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752481): Modern setting, from hook-up to lovers, rated E, Geralt wears kilts, angst with a happy ending. <20k  
> \- [Calligraphy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365418): 5k ficwip challenge, College/University, rated E, inspired by art, fluff, 5k  
> \- [In the kitchen of a keep in the mountains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910944/chapters/62970847): canon universe, found family, food as a love language, internal monologues, character study, rated T, 12k  
> \- [ There was only one bed and it was uncomfortable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26283094): 5+1 Crack, rated E, 4k  
> \- [Wish you were here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579083); canon universe, porn without plot, rated E, 5k. Geralt walks in on Jaskier.. again.  
> \- [Of food, friendship and apologies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954674); canon universe, ep 6 fix-it, rated G, 2k, not or pre slash. Food is a love language.  
> \- [As we lie here in our bed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527864): canon universe, porn without plot, somnophilia prompt for the Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, rated E, 1k  
> \- [Black in front of my eyes, bark against my back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616832): canon universe, porn without plot, outdoor, clothed sex, rated E, <1k  
> \- [Things that bump in the night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617060): pre canon universe, porn without plot, Eskel/Geralt, Kaer Morhen, rated E, <1k  
> \- [I quite like seeing you all tied up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617300): canon universe, porn without plot, Geraskier, soft bondage, rated E, <1k  
> \- [Julian Pankratz’ other, other pen name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29629470): canon universe, crack treated seriously, Geraskier, Jaskier writes RPF, rated E, <9k  
> And you can come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ArtanisNaanie) too!


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